


Every Piece of Me Loves Every Piece of You

by TempusNoKitsune



Category: Good Omens (Radio), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Aziraphale and Crowley Live Together (Good Omens), Book Aziraphale and Crowley, Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Fluff and Humor, M/M, Multiple Crossovers, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Radio Aziraphale and Crowley, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), TV Aziraphale and Crowley, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), meeting alternate versions of yourself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26517112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TempusNoKitsune/pseuds/TempusNoKitsune
Summary: He sets the book lovingly on his side table and moves to stand up and stretch when he is knocked back off his feet and into his chair.It’s not a physical force, not really. No, it's more...ethereal? Occult? Supernatural. It’s tense, and sucks all of the air out of the room, churning and spinning and beginning to bubble in the aether in a way that makes him gasp and reach for a sword that isn’t there. He’s mildly aware that his first thought is, I hope Crowley is okay, before there’s a sharp pop and the air comes rushing back in the room like a tidal wave.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For some reason I got this idea of the different versions of Aziraphale and Crowley meeting, and couldn't really find any content for it. So, as there was a severe lack, what better than to make it myself?  
> It's based in the book bois universe and currently book!Aziraphale centric, it may change, but I'll make it clear if it does.

Aziraphale licks his fingers absentmindedly before gently pushing apart the next pages of his book with his forefinger and thumb. It creates a comforting and familiar sound in the otherwise quiet bookshop and he lets out a contented sigh. There’s a half drunk cup of tea to his right, and there have been blessedly few people trying to come into the shop today. Two of them simply wanted directions, and while he was glad for their lack of business, he couldn’t say that it wasn’t a bit irritating to be used as some sort of glorified GPS when they very easily could have used their phones, or stopped in anywhere else along either side of either street flanking the shop. Still, nothing to do for the occasional wayward human, and the ones today were rather pleasant enough, so he couldn’t particularly complain. 

It’s edging on afternoon when he finally finishes his reread of _Cards on the Table._ It’s a 1936 first edition, of course, with a lovely little inscription from the woman herself in the front, in loose looping handwriting. He’d had to make a note of what it actually said as he wasn’t sure he’d be able to read it later, but that’s part of the charm of a genuine and friendly note from the author. He sets the book lovingly on his side table and moves to stand up and stretch when he is knocked back off his feet and into his chair. 

It’s not a physical force, not really. No, it's more...ethereal? Occult? Supernatural. It’s tense, and sucks all of the air out of the room, churning and spinning and beginning to bubble in the aether in a way that makes him gasp and reach for a sword that isn’t there. He’s mildly aware that his first thought is, _I hope Crowley is okay_ , before there’s a sharp pop and the air comes rushing back in the room like a tidal wave. 

For a moment he just sits there, wondering when the other shoe is going to drop. It didn’t feel like an angelic or demonic entrance. Nor anything like when Satan appeared on the tarmac of the airbase during the lack of armageddon. It’s then when he hears multiple different pitched groans and then-

“What the flying fuck.” 

Aziraphale stands up from his chair in record time. That sounded like...but no, he was back at the cottage, and that didn’t feel like any regular miracle. He suddenly wishes desperately that he had some sort of blessed weapon, but instead he steels himself and walks cautiously towards the main room. It wouldn’t do to just walk in all at once. He had the upper hand here and he’d very much like to keep it. 

“Who are you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why are you in my shop?”

“ _Your_ shop?”

Aziraphale gives his head a little shake at the seemingly nonsensical and confused sounding conversations and leans slightly around a doorway only to see...what? There’s not good way to describe the odd scene in his main room, nor the oddly familiar auras wafting off from the four beings standing in uncomfortable and en garde positions. He squints, then processes what they’re saying. Wait a minute…

“Your shop?” It’s less of a question than a biting negative statement. He easily brushes off the timid feelings as he comes out from around the corner, a hand slightly behind his back and ready to summon some sort of blade if needed. “I’m afraid not.”

Four sets of eyes turn on him at nearly the same time. Or rather, two sets of eyes and two pairs of glasses. There’s a singularly off feeling of the wind being knocked out of him at the looks from all of them.

“Oh my.” He says under his breath. He was expecting supernatural trespassers, potentially someone from either old head office. Yet staring back at him were two slightly off looking and feeling copies of himself and Crowley. 

“What the ever loving Heaven is going on?” One of the not-Crowley’s asks. He’s tall, his voice is much deeper than the real Crowley’s, and he appears largely unaffected, otherwise the similarities are enough to put him into that...oh what do humans call it? The uncanny valley? 

“What is going on,” He says strongly, edging between annoyed and not exactly frightened but just there, “Is that you’ve just appeared in my bookshop, and I’m rather unhappy with it if we’re being honest.”

“Oh he’s sharp, isn’t he.” The redhead sneers. Aziraphale looks him up and down and while there are some clear similarities, and his aura has a familiar twinge, Aziraphale dubs him definitely-not-Crowley. 

“No need to take out your fear on me.” He counters sharply and takes a bit of joy in the way that seems to make definitely-not-Crowley recoil back into what must be his matching...not himself? There must be a better categorisation for that. “I’m not particularly fond of this situation either.”

“There’s no need to take it out on one another. I’m sure that we can...discuss and figure this out together without any harsh words.” The not-Aziraphale, which he supposes ought to be definitely-not-Aziraphale if he’s matching up their current naming systems, says gently. 

“Or you could just leave.” He suggests shortly. It’s of no consequence to him that he’s being rude, and he knows that he is, but he’s alone and properly frightened now as things have begun to settle in. He feels as though he should be a bit embarrassed by the desperate thing in him that wishes Crowley were here by his side. His Crowley. It’s terribly unfair that he’s the only one alone, and not worth thinking on how that makes his eyes burn foolishly. 

“I don’t think we could actually.” The other, not-Aziraphale to match just not-Crowley, says. His voice is higher, and he sounds nervous but strong toned at the same time. “It’s not as though we came here of our own volition in the first place. I rather think that may be the work of an outside entity.”

Not-Aziraphale’s Crowley tips his chin back at him, it's a gentle and practiced motion. “Outside entity?” One dark eyebrow raises up. “Are you suggesting what I think you are?”

“I’m not suggesting anything, Crowley. I’m just...hypothesizing.”

“Hold on.” Definitely-not-Crowley breaks in, and Aziraphale knows his own Crowley enough to hear the slight wobble in his voice, the slight shift between his feet. “Crowley?”

Aziraphale only barely resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“Yes, that is the evident part I should think.” 

He points between definitely-not-Crowley and not-Crowley. “You’re both Crowley but not exactly Crowley, and you two,” He points this time between the respective certainly, absolutely not himselves, “are evidently not exactly me.”

“Wot.” The word is encased on both ends by short strings of cut off vows and that sounds enough like his Crowley to make him take an uncomfortable step away. 

“I suppose that would make sense.” Definitely-not-Aziraphale says, more obviously discomfited and starting to wring his hands at stomach level. Again Aziraphale wants to take a step back, but stops himself this time. That’s his nervous motion, and it’s making him a bit nauseous to see this...imposter doing it. 

Not-Crowley snaps his fingers. “Alternate universes!”

“Ohhh, yes that does make sense.” His Aziraphale confirms, earning himself a lopsided smirk and he needs _his_ Crowley, the right Crowley, right now. There’s an aching need that he can’t take anymore and is probably a bit too aggressive as he speaks again. 

“We are not doing this here. No, absolutely not. We are-” He stumbles a bit, and then powers on, “I need Crowley for this. Brace yourselves.”

It’s all the warning that he gives, but it ought to be plenty. It’s been quite a long while since he’s transported more than two beings at a time, but he can’t find a better alternative, and they certainly can’t take a bus looking as similar as they do. Human’s can sense these things. He pulls in a deep breath, ignores the questions thrown his way, and shifts their reality to displace them from the bookshop (which is very nicely closed up, he wouldn’t forget such an important detail) to the South Downs. 

With all of their combined energies they’re a bit heavier than he anticipated and instead of landing neatly inside of a cosy main room, they drop unceremoniously onto the lush front lawn. 

“Where-”

He doesn’t wait to listen to the questions, they’d be answered soon enough likely, and he has the more pressing matter of locating and making sure that Crowley is okay and tangible and- now he’s just going to work himself up too much. Of course Crowley is okay. He’s just fine. The presence of the not-Aziraphale’s hadn’t harmed him any, so there was no reason that Crowley should have been affected negatively, but the seed of thought had already been planted. 


	2. Chapter 2

The door opens easily for him and he leaves it ajar as he walks straight through to the glass french doors on the opposite end of the cottage. At this time of day Crowley is certain to be working in the garden. When he first steps into their little yard he has a moment of light panic when it’s completely empty. The yard space is miraculously larger than it had been when they had first moved in. Where it had been mostly flat green space then, it’s now beautifully built up. There are a small variety of fruit trees and bushes, herbs, and a wide array of verdant and flowering plants. Not all of them are suited to be grown in this temperament, but they grow wonderfully regardless. 

He’s about to call out when he walks around a bit more and spies a tell tale flash of black amoung the shrubbery. 

“Crowley.” He breathes out, palpable relief spreading through him. It’s unsurprising that Crowley doesn’t find him, given how quietly his name was said, so Aziraphale shakes himself and tries again louder this time. “Crowley.”

A shock of messy raven hair pops up over the bushes. The sun catches the it in a way that reflects an almost prismatic light, though it’s quickly drowned out by the sharp glare off of signature black glasses.

“Angel, you’re home early.” Crowley tilts his head forward slightly so that big amber eyes can peek at him. He easily drops whatever he was doing, walking out from where he was wedged to meet Aziraphale, wiping mucky hands on his jeans. 

Aziraphale shifts uncomfortably, holding off on the compulsion to play with his fingers because his double had been doing it earlier. Crowley’s brow furrows.

“Are you alright?” He reaches out to touch the angel’s arm, but stops short in an awkward hover as he catches sign of his still dirty hand. Aziraphale lets out a fond huff at his demon not wanting to dirty his clothes. 

“Not precisely. We have...an issue of sorts.” 

The hand that had reached out to touch him clenches and falls back to Crowley’s side, but he takes a step closer, almost protectively. 

“It’s not-”

“None of _ Them _ , no. Though I’m not quite sure how to explain this to you without you seeing it yourself.” 

There’s a pause, and then Crowley, as he does when they’re alone or having a serious conversation, goes to take off his sunglasses. 

“You may want to keep those on, dear boy.” Aziraphale gently grabs Crowley’s wrist and gives it a little squeeze.

“Angel…”

“Please just...come with me.”

It’s Crowley’s turn to shift uncomfortably this time. Aziraphale almost never turns down Crowley taking his glasses off. He knows what it means, that removal of an age old shield. The access to those molten gold eyes. He has the strong compulsion to reach out and take the demon’s hand in his own, but he refrains for now, if only because of his own nerves. He’s never been particularly the best at reaching out, that’s always been Crowley. 

There’s the sound of idle chatter as they walk back into the house, and he can feel the demon freeze behind him. Aziraphale can pinpoint the voices as not-Aziraphale and not-Crowley. They seem calm, and from what he can hear they’re quite literally just talking about food. He looks back and gives Crowley a little nod to try and put him at ease. As he walks into the living room he can feel Crowley shadowing behind him, and all of the eyes turn on them. 

There’s a moment where everything is frozen and then, without turning himself, Aziraphale can feel Crowley being to move to leave, and this time he does reach back and grab onto him. He misses his hand and instead ends up gripping a black clad elbow.

“No, nope.” Definatley-not-Crowley grates out.

Not-Crowley’s head tilts, his eyebrows raising up towards his hairline. “He’s very small.”

Aziraphale feels Crowley tense up and knows that if he doesn’t step in there’s going to be a bit of a tantrum going on. Though it wouldn’t be totally unfounded. Yes, Crowley is generally small in stature, but it’s served him well through history. Besides that, Aziraphale has always been fond of the fact that Crowley was shorter than him, and also enjoyed seeing him wield his form in lithe and slippery ways, as well as with a compact hidden strength. 

“And what, pray tell, is wrong with being small?” He cuts in before Crowley gets the chance to start going off. 

Not-Crowley rolls his shoulders back and seems to shrink himself down a bit. “Nothing. Nothing at all.” 

Definitely-not-Crowley snorts and Aziraphale turns a sharp look on him. He’s not a fan of that one. His Crowley pulls his elbow away from the tightening grip on it and smooths out imaginary wrinkles on his jumper. 

“Damn straight.” He says with false cool, though Aziraphale can hear the grating frustration just behind it. “And I’m not small. I’m average human sized. If you think I’m small you must just be freakishly large.” 

Crowley flashes his doubles a toothy grin, fangs showing. 

“I do think we may have more pressing matters to deal with.” Not-Aziraphale starts, but his eyes are shining as he looks the real Crowley over. “But if it’s any consolation I think you’re a lovely size.”

“You are dear,” Definitely-not-Aziraphale chips in, “don’t listen to them. I believe we’re all just a bit flustered.” 

Aziraphale tells himself that he’s overreacting, and that the other two versions of himself do not, in fact, look as though they’re already besotted with  _ his _ Crowley. Though it’s difficult to ignore the strong head of jealousy rearing back. It’s never been his best quality. 

Both of the other Crowley’s are looking at their respective Aziraphale’s in a funny way, and his Crowley’s face has taken on a delicate pink hue. It’s looking back and forth between these scenes that makes him notice just how different the Crowley’s look while the alternate versions of himself are objectively rather close. 

His Crowley’s skin is a honeyed olive colour, his ears have a light point to them, his canines are sharpened, and his ears are pierced in several places. Not-Crowley’s skin is lighter, pale with a suggestion of honey. Otherwise he looks very human. His hair is a similar colour to real Crowley’s, though more matte black, cut shorter and styled higher. Definitely-not-Crowley is the most stand out. His hair is flame red and his skin is very pale with a pink undertone. His limbs are long and gangly and he’s got a face tattoo. It’s strange that they could already sound and act so similarly, and yet look so terribly different. 

Crowley sighs and waves his hand about in the air. It’s a dramatic dismissal.

“It’s alright. Not like they’re the first to say so. Have you been around humans?” Aziraphale frowns at the switch from defensive to thinly veiled self-depreciation. “Anyway, does someone want to explain why there are four new people in our house who’s auras match ours?”

“Your house?” Definitely-not-Aziraphle says in a small shocked voice, quiet enough that it could go unnoticed if Aziraphale himself weren’t so hyper aware.

“We’re not sure. One moment I’m in my own shop with Crowley, having a drink, and the next we’re in a different but same shop, on our feet, in front of these two.” Not-Aziraphale says with an extraordinary amount of cool as he gestures at the two definitely-nots. 

“Wonderful. That’s not ominous at all.” Crowley moves back so he can lean against the door frame, and Aziraphale wants very much to move back with him. An odd need to be right by him as though his very proximity can smooth over the discomfort and uncertainty. He thinks that it may seem too desperate, and show too much weakness, so he simply stands his ground. “First matter of business, what do I call all of you, because I’m certainly not calling either of you,” He gestures between the other Crowley’s, “by my name.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Book Crowley:*walks in*  
> The other Crowley's: What- why...why is he so small???  
> Book Crowley: ExCuSe YoU?  
> \--  
> AKA the first things the Crowley's do upon meeting each other is pick a fight
> 
> In case you haven't realised, this fic is terribly self indulgent.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They all get their own names!  
> I tried very much to keep in character with them, but calling them not and defiantely-not the whole time just wasn't going to be sustainable for me or for Aziraphale.

“Your name.” Definitely-not-Crowley parrots blankly back.

“My name. You’re in my...world? Universe? Whatever. You’re in my place, and I think it’s rather rude you’d come here and decide to use my name.”

“To be fair we’re not deciding to do anything.” Not-Crowley chips in lightly. “We’re all technically, Crowley. Though I assume that if that’s true you’ve also got your human names, yeah? I’m happy to go by A.J. Always wanted to try it.”

“A.J.? Really?” Not-Aziraphale questions, garnering his Crowley’s attention. For what would easily be the most visually intimidating of the group, not-Crowley seems very laid back and cool, and has been bending easily and happily to whatever not-Aziraphale says. 

“No good?”

Not-Aziraphale smiles. “It’s cute.”

The statement leaves not Crowley stuttering, getting out something like “not cute” somewhere in between the garbled mess. 

“I...don’t like seeing that from the outside.” Crowley grumbles, hitching his shoulders up towards his ears. “Sounds stupid.” 

“That I’ll agree with. Do I really sound like that?” Definitely-not-Crowley asks, slouching down with a light blush rising on his cheekbones.

“You do, dear, yes.” Definitely-not-Aziraphale confirms with a heavy note of fondness. 

Crowley coughs loudly. “Alright, A.J. it is then.” He turns towards definitely-not-Crowley. “What about you?”

Definitely-not-Crowley shrugs. He’s feigning an air of indifference. Cultivating an aura of aloof suaveness that Aziraphale is sure every person in this room can see straight through.

“I suppose I’ll take Anthony then.”

“Fine. That makes things easier.” He moves a hand up and runs it through his hair. It puffs up a bit with the carding motion but he makes no move to smooth it afterwards. “Now all of...all of the Aziraphale’s. You’ve got to figure out something here.” 

Crowley throws him something of an apologetic grimace, as though he knows just how much Aziraphale is going to hate this. Honestly, he likely does. At this point he wouldn’t be terribly surprised if he and Crowley knew each other better than they know themselves.

“Oh.” Definitely-not-Aziraphale says, and he sounds a mixture of surprised and lost. “I don’t think I’ve ever thought of going by anything else.”

“You’ve gone by Fell before.” Anthony chips in.

Definitely-not-Aziraphale makes a non-committal humming noise.

“Well if it helps, I think I’d like to try Azi.” Not-Aziraphale offers.

“Azi?” A.J. leans over, a smile on his face. “Wouldn’t have pegged it.”

“I like it. Besides, it sounds quite good, doesn’t it?”

“Hm?”

“Azi and A.J. It has a nice ring to it.”

Aziraphale can feel some heat rising to his own cheeks as he watches their interacting. Azi and A.J. have a freedom about the way that they talk to one another, their love and care palpable between them not only through their speech but also their facial and bodily expressions. He feels a confusing wave of jealousy and longing. 

His Crowley steps up to stand beside him proper, and he nearly jumps when a gentle hand lands between his shoulder blades. 

“I just assumed you’d want to keep Aziraphale, yeah?” The demon shoots him something of a coy and teasing smile. It’s an attempt at something light and familiar and Aziraphale allows him to relax back into that steadying hand just a bit.

“You have assumed correctly. The day I take on a nickname is the one I sell one of my Wilde first editions.”

Crowley snorts. “So the  _ actual _ apocalypse. Good to know.”

That gets a half smile and the hand on his back rubs back and forth a couple of times before leaving entirely. He’s internally embarrassed at how much he misses it as soon as it's gone, but carefully smooths his expressions and looks back over to definitely-not-Aziraphale. 

“Have you chosen something, or would you like help?”

Definitely-not-Aziraphale looks up at him with no small amount of hesitancy and discomfort. 

“As Crow-ehm... _Anthony_ said earlier I’ve used Fell before, and I suppose that would be the most comfortable option…”

Anthony makes a face. “I’m not calling you that.”

Fell looks over to him with a mixture of confusion and mild irritation.

“You suggested it.”

“I know that, doesn’t mean I’m going to call you it, angel.”

Though he can’t exactly see them, Aziraphale knows that Crowley rolls his eyes. “You can call him angel then, you probably won’t be the only one.”

Anthony’s eyes snap over to him. Aziraphale likes him even less than he did before. Anthony is sharp and irritable where Crowley is gentle and all false bark with very rare bite. 

“Don’t look at me like that,  _ Anthony _ . We’re fundamentally the same person, you think I don’t call my angel, angel?”

Something thrills through him at the “my angel.” He quiets and settles it down quickly, but he certainly wasn’t expecting Crowley to say that aloud.

Anthony looks gobsmacked, and sits there opening and closing his mouth not unlike a fish. 

“Right. I know you’re smarter than this, I hope you are at any rate.” Crowley snarks. “Now the biggest question is what the bleeding hell are we supposed to do? Can’t be good for space-time for us to all be in the same place. Isn’t there a whole thing about paradoxes and ripping apart the fabric of the universe or summat?”

Aziraphale grimaces. “Not exactly my place of expertise-”

“You’re telling me there’s no way you have a book on the space time continuum or the multiverse theory?” Crowley teases with a smirk.

“I didn’t say that.” 

Crowley flicks his tongue out, and wrinkles up his nose. “Mhm. Mr. I know everything.”

“I know  _ almost _ everything.” 

“The fuck you do.” Crowley laughs at him. It’s free and light and Aziraphale can’t help but smile back.

“You’re jealous, that’s all.”

They both startle when a cough comes from the other side of the room. Aziraphale only notices then that the two of them had been turning towards and leaning in nearer one another. As though they’d been...been flirting.

A.J. is smirking at them when Azirapahle turns away his attention. He tries to look disapproving, but knows that he falls short of it. It’s disconcerting, knowing that there’s not much for it and that there are two other versions of himself and Crowley in the room, and that despite their differences there are enough similarities that they’re bound to recognise certain things. He really doesn’t like that. He also doesn’t like having to consciously think about how often and to what heavy of an extent they flirt. 

“He does make a point.” Azi says, breaking the building awkward tension. “It may be worth a look into, but I’m afraid it may not help very much. This isn’t something that any of us did, as far as I’m aware. So, it may be terribly difficult to reverse on our own, even with the six of us.” 

“That’s a good point, yeah.” Crowley confirms, pursing his lips. “You’re sure none of you had anything to do with this?”

“Yep.” A.J. pops the p and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. 

“Obviously.” Anthony intones. 

“Wonderful.” Crowley sighs and pushes up his glasses so that he can rub along the bridge of his nose and corners of his eyes. “Who wants some wine?”


	4. Chapter 4

“Crowley, it’s hardly past noon.” Aziraphale chides.

“And?”

“And that’s terribly early to be drinking.”

“Not as though you haven’t day drunk before, and if there’s ever been a good reason to day drink ‘suddenly meeting two other versions of yourself from fuck knows where’ is at the top of that list.” Crowley comments as he turns away towards the kitchen.

“No wine in the kitchen, dear. You’ll have to go to the cellar if you’re looking for that.”

Crowley pauses. “How do we feel about liquor?”

Aziraphale glowers at him. “Don’t push it, Crowley.”

“Fine, fine.” Crowley throws a smirk over his shoulder and gives him a fake salute before disappearing. 

“I wasn’t sure he was serious, but I’m glad he was.” A.J. comments, kicking back where he’s sat on their plush sofa. “Some alcohol will do us all good. Especially those two.” He gestures at Fell and Anthony with a wide grin.

“Oi.” Anthony snaps. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Azi shifts in his own spot. He’s seated next to A.J., rather close actually. Again, there’s that slight pang that he is very steadily going to ignore. 

“I believe it means that you’re a bit tense and stuck up, but that’s just what I’m gleaning.” He clarifies as A.J. snickers. 

Aziraphale himself has to smother something of a smile. They do, funnily enough, seem the most awkward and buttoned up of the pairs. He’d never thought he’d think of Crowley like that in any way, a different version of him aside. The demon is rather more free and well adjusted than that. Or at least he’s carefully cultivated his masks well enough to appear so. Anthony is obviously high strung. He’s the very definition of tense, even as he spreads himself out on the chair he’s plopped into. Perhaps it’s a bit of an unfair assessment though, given he and Crowley are rather comfortable since it’s their home, and Azi and A.J. are just oddly calm about the whole thing. He thinks that if he and Crowley we’re to have been unceremoniously dropped into one of the other’s spaces they would both be very much on edge. 

Aziraphale lets out a sigh and moves over to sit in his own usual chair. He notes that now all of their furniture is taken up, and Crowley will have to drag in a chair from the kitchen to sit. They hadn’t decorated their house for more than two, and didn’t ever really invite anyone over, or have cause to. 

“Regardless of who’s more uptight than who, I do have to agree that perhaps some alcohol will do us well. No use in being tense when there’s nothing much we can do for it.”He admits, moving a hand to rub lightly underneath the bridge of his glasses. 

“Did someone order vino?” Crowley calls as he turns the corner back into the room, proudly boasting one arm clinging to three hefty bottles and the other just barely holding onto 6 glasses. 

Aziraphale is getting up to his feet before he realises and helping to lighten the precarious hold. There’s a low coffee table in front of the couch and they offload everything there with some level of practice. It’s certainly not the first time that they’ve had more than one bottle of wine in this very room, but all of the glasses are indeed a new addition. Sometimes they don’t even use the two, so it’s something indeed to see the little table cluttered with them. It’s strikes him as something off more than having other copies of himself sitting around his living room. Perhaps that’s a testament to all of the odd things that have happened over the years, but there’s something about that particular little change in something so familiar that strikes him more than anything else. 

“It’s all Cabernet, easy drinking red. I assume our tastes are similar.” Crowley comments as he uses the suddenly sharpened ends of his nails to cut through the foil on the bottles. “And yes, you all know we need at least three bottles.”

It’s easy enough to get all of the glasses poured, between the two of them it takes next to no time at all. Aziraphale plucks his glass from the bunch and moves to sit back, gulping down probably more than he should at first pass. He hums and looks up only to find Crowley giving a cursory glance around before shrugging.

He goes to suggest that Crowley grab a chair from the kitchen, but the words die in his throat as the demon easily comes over and sits down just to the left of his legs. Settling down onto the floor and leaning back against the chair. For some reason Aziraphale wants very badly to reach down and pet his hair. He wonders how it would feel. It looks as though it would be soft and thick. In the low lighting of the cottage it doesn’t reflect the coloured light it usually does. Instead it’s mostly black but with odd golden highlights. 

“Right, so.” Crowley’s voice breaks through his thoughts. “How long have you all known each other? I’m not sure how similar or different we really are, so figured I’d start somewhere at the beginning.”

“Eden.” A.J. offers. “Pretty much. Bumped into each other since.” 

There’s a bit of a break as they all seem to turn towards Anthony and Fell, who both shift uncomfortably. Anthony all but shoves his face into his wine glass.

“Yes,” Fell finally offers. “We were much the same. Didn’t start properly spending time with each other frequently until maybe 11 years ago?” He turns toward Anthony at the question and the demon makes a small noise of assent. 

“Well, same here.” Crowley says. “So, guess that’s stayed the same. Suppose that was from Armageddon, yeah?”

There are some nods, though most of them are now very focused on, or at least pretending to be very focused on, their wine. Crowley looks up to him as though pleading for some help here. Azirapahle isn’t exactly sure what he’s supposed to do but it can’t hurt to try.

“Em, you all seemed rather surprised that this was our house?” He starts. “Do you not live together?”

“No!” Fell bursts out with a bit too much gusto. He gets a few surprised looks and shrinks back into his chair.

“Be a bit more enthusiastic about that, why don’t you, angel?” Anthony grumbles looking off to the side.

Aziraphale just catches something that looks like a grimace pass over Crowley’s face before it disappears. 

“Right.” Crowley coughs and gestures a bit frantically with his wine glass at Azi and A.J. who are both looking at the other pair as though they’ve both grown extra heads. “And you two?”

They seem to snap back to attention and look at each other for a moment before Azi shakes his head.

“No, we do not. I can’t say that we’ve even thought about it really. Our styles are far too different.”

A.J. hums. “Besides if I want to spend time with him I’ll just stay at the bookshop. Nothing wrong with that.”

Crowley nods as though he really agrees and Aziraphale wonders how much he actually likes the bookshop for a moment. He always put on a bit of a fuss that it was too old and cluttered for him, but Aziraphale is now reflecting on about how much of that was just a show for his persona. Crowley did always gravitate towards the bookshop before they got the cottage. Especially after Armageddon didn’t happen. Aziraphale would sometimes come into the back room after working only to find Crowley taking a kip on the couch there. He begun keeping a blanket over the back for those times specifically. Perhaps in some way, that had been their first home. 

“We got the cottage ah,” He looks up at Aziraphale. Head tilted down enough that he’s properly peering up. “How long ago now angel?”

“Only a handful of years ago.” He replies. “Long enough for us to settle in comfortably.” 

Crowley hums and looks back at the others, draining near half of his cup. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit more awkwardness to explore, yay! They're sharing some more about themselves, time to see some changes.


	5. Chapter 5

“So, are you…?” Azi asks, seemingly out of nowhere. They haven’t talked for a few minutes after the living situation question. It wasn’t exactly awkward but it was a bit strained. They’d all given a break to focus on wine. Both Crowley and Anthony needing a refill on their cups already. 

Aziraphale blinks at him. He doesn’t seem to be the only one confused by the half question. 

Azi makes a small huffing noise and shifts, looking properly uncomfortable for the first time since he’s appeared. At this point even A.J. is giving him something of a funny look. 

“Goodness, I didn’t properly think this out. Just pretend I didn’t say anything.”

A.J. leans over with a wide and wicked grin. “Well now you have to tell us.”

Azi’s mouth twists. “I have rather begun to dig myself a hole here, but I‘m realising it is far from a good idea.”

A sharp black eyebrow rises up over circular glasses much like Anthony’s, although without the odd side shades. A.J.’s head tilts in a silent question, though he doesn’t push more than that, the teasing air melting away for something a bit more serious. 

“You realise you’re in a room with the original question asker, yeah?” Crowley pipes in. His head lays back against the seat cushion, lolling dangerously close to Aziraphale’s knee. It wouldn’t be so bad it if were to touch, after all, since moving Crowley has fallen asleep on him multiple times, but for some reason it seems taboo now with these other versions of themselves here. “Not to put pressure on there but I’m just saying, if curiosity was to kill the cat, I wonder what it’s done to the snake.” He peters off with a snort, laughing at his own dark joke. Aziraphale doesn’t resist the need to thump him on the head. 

He gets a sharp but amused look for it, as though Crowley is pleased that he’s been hit. Knowing him, he likely is. At least pleased with himself for getting such a strong and physical response. 

Both Anthony and A.J.’s eyes have turned on him, though with different expressions, not that it surprises Aziraphale to see. A.J. is more interested, a light smile that’s on both the edge of a smirk and a frown. Anthony, on the other hand, looks something gobsmacked. His face is pinched and mouth twisted but open. 

“Em, rather.” Azi lets out a little cough. “I…” He looks back to A.J., just staring for a moment before this brows pinch as though he’s pleading for a helping hand there. A.J. puzzles at him, obviously lost. Azi lets out an exasperated noise, before looking back around the group before quickly settling on Crowley. Who, to be fair, is likely the most calm and easy going person aside from the two of them relatively speaking. “I feel like none of you are actually prepared for this, and we’d be better off exploring another avenue.”

Crowley lets his head tilt slightly, and it does touch Aziraphale’s leg, hair brushing against his empty hand where it’s resting on his knee. He purses his lips, pondering like he somehow knows whatever it is that Azi is talking about. 

“Fair enough.” He says finally. “Considering how us,” He makes a short gesture up to Aziraphale, “living together went over, I don’t blame you. There’s likely a lot more different about us than we’re willing to consider. Honestly, I’m still a bit thrown by the idea that there’s more than one of me. Meaning that the multiverse theory is, in fact, correct, and that we’re all likely products of slightly different choices and outcomes.” The demon gives a little shrug and places his wine glass on the floor. “We could talk about those. They’d be no less uncomfortable, but if you wanted comfortable I’m sorry to say the wine and the furniture you’re sitting on are the best you’re going to be getting for a while.”

Aziraphale blinks down at him, starting long enough that Crowley looks back up at him. He keeps his head tilted down some so that they can make eye to eye contact.

“That’s a terrible idea.” He says back, rather blandly. 

Crowley looks at him a moment more. “Thanks, angel. Always know I can count on you to stick with me. I’m well chuffed.” The sarcasm drips from his tone before he sticks his serpentine tongue out, rather childishly. 

“One of us has to be realistic.” 

“Do we?”

“Crowley.”

“Do we though?” 

“Well-” A.J. cuts in. “I am madly curious actually, about all of this. About you.” He nods towards Crowley and then slowly towards Anthony. 

Crowley gives Aziraphale a pointed look and he throws his free hand up in defeat. It’s not an argument that he really wants to go in on. It’s far from worth it, especially if more than one Crowley is going to gang up on him. 

“It’s on your head.”

“I’ll take that.” Crowley nods to A.J. “Ask on.”

A.J. hums. “Start small I suppose. What’s your favourite wine?”

Crowley lets out a little laugh. “You call that small? Could talk about wine for ages.” He sits up a bit straighter. “Been fond of zinfandel recently, some nice ones from California, but a neat little blend from Austria’s been keeping my fancy.”

“Zinfandel?” Anthony asks out of nowhere. “Really?”

“Oi, don’t knock it. ‘S underrated, that’s all.” 

A.J. hums, and all of the angel’s are seemingly enraptured by the odd engrossed scene of three demons of the same strain, conversing amicably about wine. “Fan of Rioja, myself.” He adds in.

Crowley perks up from where he’d gotten defensive against Anthony. “Spanish?”

A.J. nods his head solemnly, suddenly very serious. “And Portuguese, if we’re talking underrated.” 

“ _ Châteauneuf _ - _ du _ - _ Pape _ man, me” Anthony throws out.

“Oh ho!” The tensions eases as Crowley smiles broadly. “Classy. That’s a beautiful appellation. Rhône. Been a bit since we’ve had any CDP.”

“CDP?” A red eyebrow quirks up, very obviously judging. 

“You drink it and you don’t even know shorthand?” Crowley makes and exaggerated scoffing noise. “Not everyone can speak French,  _ Anthonie _ .” 

“Well what all can you speak?” Anthony challenges, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

Crowley doesn’t miss a beat. “English, French, Spanish, Portuguese, Dutch, German, various Quechuan dialects, Italian, Latin, Greek, Turkish, Mandarin, Croatian, Czech, Irish, Russian, Arabic, Estonian, Vietnamese, and those are just what I’m fluent in.” 

“Are you…serious?” 

“He is.” Aziraphale confirms. “We’ve spoken in nearly all of those together at one point or another though, I would say there are a few differences in our interests which have affected what we’ve retained.”

“That’s because you won’t even think of reading books that have been translated into English.” Crowley counters. 

“They’re not the same once they’ve been translated.” He says back, and the other two of him both make noises of agreement. 

“But you retain all of that?” Anthony asks, some of his bravado dropped for genuine curiosity. “I mean, I could probably speak a bit of the languages I’ve learned, but I’d be rusty for not using them in decades, maybe centuries.” 

“Fair enough.” A.J. says. “Some of the time even my English proves lacking. Languages are all use and practice, like anything else. A sort of art form, I’d say.”

Crowley hums. “I’d agree with that.” 

He pushes himself up to his knees, moving on them to snatch Anthony’s glass and refills it along with his own. Anthony gives him a hesitant nod in thanks, and Crowley holds up his glass in a mock cheers before settling back. 

“Any other questions?”

There’s a moment of silence. Thinking and not uncomfortable in the absence. 

“Ah,” A.J. makes a bit of a face. “Worst thing you ever took credit for?”

Crowley grimaces and takes a hearty swig of his wine. “Spanish inquisition. Not really even my idea to take credit. Never would have wanted to really.” His whole person has shrunk in a bit. Aziraphale remembers talking about that shortly after the time. How distraught Crowley has been. Perpetually drunk and melancholy, either hardly talking or talking too much. Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel bad, though he didn’t do much for it. He wishes he had, but knows why he didn’t. 

Anthony shakes his head. “Wasn’t that bad.” Aziraphale frowns, wondering how exactly he could say that. “Maybe the success of Hamlet.” Anthony continues, shooting a teasing look back at Fell, who huffs indignantly.

“Oh, really. Don’t be so rude.”

Anthony barks out a laugh and relaxes back, swaying towards Fell like a flower towards the sun. It’s a lighter side to him, something more genuine that Aziraphale can actually see more of Crowley in now. There’s also a thinly veiled yearning there which makes Aziraphale shift in his seat and flick his eyes down to the demon at his feet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No harm in comparing who you are right? Maybe? Arguing with yourself?  
> Who knows really, but here we get the chance to see some of the differences between our demons.   
> And what was Azi going to ask?  
> Hmmm


End file.
